


Makkachin's Grand Day Out

by tikistitch



Series: Makkachin Tales [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Makkachin's POV, we mention otabek briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 07:35:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9538112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tikistitch/pseuds/tikistitch
Summary: Makkachin is content taking care of his beloved family.  One day, however, he gets a disturbing message from the cat.





	

Makkachin barreled right through the threshold and danced with joy inside the warm apartment, tongue lolling and shaking off the snow.

“Makkachin, wait, I need to wipe off your feet!” Yuri, pink cheeked and puffing, grabbed a raggedy grey towel and crouched down. “Come on! Victor won't like paw prints on the rug.”

“Victor's out. Again,” groused Yurio. He lay in his usual spot, splayed out on the couch, squinting into his Makkachin Photo Device. He evidently was not very skilled at using the device, as Makkichin had investigated this thoroughly, and there were very few if any of his images stored there. Makkachin padded over to check again now, sensitive nose probing.

“Hey, you're still wet!” Yurio scolded. Makkachin managed to get a peek at the Makkachin Photo Device's small screen, but it was still severely lacking in images of Makkachin (although it did include an entire folder on someone with the unlikely name of “Otabek”). He attempted to lick it to underscore this terrible problem, but instead Yurio yanked it from his grasp. The boy was young for a human, so Makkachin decided this was probably why he was still inept at its proper operation.

“Katsudon, can't you control this animal? Give it – I don't know – food or a bone or something so it'll leave me alone!” 

The cat, perched in her own usual spot above the boy, licked a paw and gazed regally around the room, a queen surveying her court.

“Hey, Makkachin!” said Yuri, spreading his arms out wide. Makkachin happily bounded over. Yuri generally got hungry after being taken out for a run, so it was a good bet that dinner was in the offing. “I'm gonna go up and take a shower, and then we'll get you some dinner, all right?”

Makkachin signaled as best he could (as humans, though well-intentioned, were generally a bit dim), that this would indeed be an agreeable plan for the evening, and Yuri hugged him and set off for the upstairs bathroom. Makkachin circled the rug in front of Yurio's couch to make himself a suitable spot, and then lay down at the boy's feet. He worried as Yurio returned to staring moodily into his Makkachin Photo Device, but could not think of a solution to help the poor boy. 

He heard the shower turn on, and began to doze.

The door opened and Makkachin snapped to attention at the smell of his beloved companion. He leapt up, bounding right over the coffee table to get to the entryway, though he upset one of Yurio's textbooks on his way.

“Hey, I was reading that,” Yurio barked, though actually, he hadn't.

Greeting Victor properly took some time, as there were kisses and hugs and ear-scratches to be exchanged. The girl, Mila, had accompanied him once again on his errand. She always spoke cheerfully and gave quite excellent ear scratches. He hoped she would stay later for belly rubs.

“Did you find anything?” Yurio called. 

Mila sat down on his legs and Yurio spent a moment pretending to be quite irritated about it, even though it was rather obvious he liked these people. “Nope! Nothing again,” she admitted.

“Not again! Victor!”

“Shhh!” said Victor, holding a finger to his lips and staring around the room in that shifty-eyed manner of his.

“He's in the shower!” Yurio told him.

Victor feigned surprise and concern. “The shower? What? All alone?”

Yurio was now holding his hands over his hears, moaning. “Victor! Don't!”

“I must save him!” Victor declared, throwing off his coat. “He may drown!” He leapt for the stairs, pausing a moment on the second step. “You'll dine with us of course, Mila?”

“Sure thing, Victor.”

“Yuriiiii!” Victor was already bounding up the stairs. Soon a surprised yelp could be heard, accompanied by the sound of rushing water and joyous laughter.

Yurio pounded his hands to his head. “Every day. Every day like this! They never stop.”

Mila laughed. It was a good, hearty laugh, and one that Makkachin much liked. “They're in loooove. I've never seen Victor so happy as when you two are with him.”

“Horrible!” Yurio protested, hiding the blush with a hand. “So you didn't find anything?”

Mila bent down to give Makkachin a little kiss. “Victor says he'll know it when he sees it.”

“But it's almost Katsudon's birthday!”

Mila huffed. “Oh, you know what he's like!” She piled hair over half her face and changed her posture. _“I'm Victor Nikiforov! I'm a genius! Look at meee!”_

Laughter burst from Yurio before he was able to contain it and school his features back into a frown. 

“So what's for dinner?”

“We don't have anything in the house!” Yurio whined. “I'm literally starving here!”

“Well, better start the piroshkis. Come on!” She stood and grabbed Yurio's hands. After a bit of fuss and bother and a threat to carry him into the kitchen, they at last left the room. Makkachin launched himself into the sweet spot the couch where Yurio had created an area of delicious human warmth, thinking it would be perfect for a pre-meal nap.

He felt the cat stir above him, and cracked open an eye. “Yes?”

She switched her tail, curling her paws inward. “Haven't you wondered why they have been going out on so many errands?”

“No,” Makkachin answered. “I like Mila. She smells nice.”

The cat sighed grandly. It was clear Makkachin wasn't going to get to his nap just yet. “I have important information. It is from the network!” The cat was very old school, and still depended much on a city-wide conspiracy of spies and informers. Makkachin thought such things to be gossip, but the cat would not be deterred. “Your companion is seeking a replacement for you!”

Makkachin rolled his eyes. “You place too much dependency on your alley cats,” he huffed. 

“My sources are unimpeachable!” she huffed back.

“What upstart would be capable of doing my job! I am the companion of Victor Nikiforov, the hero of the homeland! He takes a particular sort of care. And now I must watch over his beloved, taking him for runs, soothing his raw moods.”

The cat glared. “I was only offering a courtesy. Believe it, or do not believe it. It does not matter to me.”

“I do not,” snarled Makkachin. In a rare display of an intemperate mood, he bolted from the nice, warm, comfy couch and padded into the kitchen, which was just beginning to radiate a panoply of bewitching smells. In the end, he traded a restful nap for some tasty morsels, tossed to him by both Mila and Yurio – though the boy would probably rather have died than admitted it. 

Victor and Yuri turned up in due time, pink-cheeked and dripping from the shower. Makkachin, who found himself in a morose temper, probably brought on by that awful cat, spent the good portion of the meal wound around Victor's feet, and then, when he could find the self-possession to get to his feet, ended up with most of his upper body resting on Victor's lap.

“Makkachin, don't you want any of Yurio's delicious piroshkis?” Victor doted. Makkachin gazed up at his companion, eyes brimming with the sharp pain of betrayal. “You are my best friend, are you not? You know my heart!”

“Might wanna lay off the vodka, Victor,” Yurio told him.

“I'll wash dishes since Yurio cooked,” said Yuri, who began bustling around, picking up plates. He headed off to the kitchen balancing a good cupboard full of dishware. “Hey, did you two dirty every pot and pan in here?” he shouted back.

“Be careful with my grandpa's fry pan, Katsudon,” Yurio shot back, and he was up, running for the kitchen.

“Mila!” whispered Victor, striking across the table to grab her wrist. “I have an idea! Makkachin has given me the best idea! Tomorrow, we will go again, and we will take him with us! Makkachin will know! Won't you, Makkachin?” Victor leaned back to give Makkachin a kiss, but didn't loosen his grip on Mila's wrist, and nearly ended up toppling a vodka bottle. 

“Victor, are you sure?” asked Mila, hurriedly righting the bottle.

Makkachin found himself gathered somewhat awkwardly into Victor's lap. “Yes! You will help us! And we will achieve success!”

Makkachin blinked. He turned his nose towards a soft sound coming from the china cupboard. The cat had just positioned herself there. She sat, watching over them, switching her tail.

 

Makkachin didn't much care for collars, even if this one did have his name spelled out in diamonds. He sadly wondered who would take Yuri out for his run now that Victor and Mila were dragging him across town. The damned cat! He should have been enjoying the fresh, chill air, but instead his head was down and his sour mood had not brightened since the previous evening. A replacement? What could that mean?

“I think it's up ahead!” said Victor, tugging at the leash.

“Haven't we been to this shop before?” asked Mila.

“No, that was the other one!”

“What other one?”

“Here we are Makkachin!” Victor announced at the shop doorway. He crouched down, the snow crunching under his boots. “Are you ready to make a decision, my friend?” Makkachin glared over Victor's shoulder, and spied someone ducking behind a pile of trash cans in the alleyway across the street.

Victor led him inside. A bell jingled, and Makkachin was assaulted with a riot of smells and sounds and chattering and barking and meowing and chirping. 

What was this horrid place?

“Oh, he thinks he fancy – thinks he's fancy!” taunted a colorful bird perched by the doorway.

“Look at the diamond collar,” taunted a Bichon Frise, standing up on its little paws. “Such a poser!”

“His smell is disturbing,” sniffed a Persian.

Makkachin tried to ignore them, but just then the proprietor stormed out and cried, “Are you Victor Nikoforov? Oh my god, can I get a picture? Please? Not for me! My, uh, _cousin_ loves you!”

Victor snapped into his polite fan-greeting mode, plastering a cool smile on his face and maintaining it there as the shop owner went into excruciating detail with Mila regarding the correct operation of his antiquated camera.

Makkachin, forgotten for the time being in favor of f-stop settings, sat impatiently by the entrance. “Hey Diamond Joe! Diamond Joe!” called the parrot.

“I'm not answering to that,” Makkachin told him, even though by saying this he was in fact answering, and eventuality that annoyed him greatly.

“Poodles are known to be unintelligent,” added the Bichon Frise.

“Have you been eating garbage?” snorted the Persian.

Makkachin heard the doorbell jingle. As some more customers entered, he took the chance to slip out of the shop while the door was still open. It slammed shut again, and he was left out in the cold, although at least he was free of the noisome animals.

He spotted again the small comrade who had been lurking across the street. The dog appeared to be upset over something and so, having nothing else to occupy him while he waited on Victor, Makkachin carefully crossed to road and came up to him.

“It's a chill day to be outside, my friend,” Makkachin offered.

“Yes,” said the dog, who looked to be part terrier and part god-knows-what.

They stood, for a time, in uncomfortable silence. “Shouldn't you return to your companion?” Makkachin inquired at last.

“I haven't got a companion.”

“Oh. I'm sorry!” It was a terrible thing, of course. A terrible thing. A dog without a purpose! Makkachin stood, fretting for a time, and they once again fell to silence.

“May I offer you assistance?” Makkachin inquired.

The terrier considered this. “There's usually a lot of delicious food in this shop's trash bins. But I can't seem to pry the lid off today – it's stuck on tight. And I'm rather famished.”

“Oh, I can help! I'm quite strong,” Makkachin bragged. 

“Wait!” said the terrier, but Makkachin had already leapt to the cans and smashed three of them over in one graceful leap. Not for nothing was he the companion of Victor Nikiforov, Russia's hero!

As the terrier had promised, a cornucopia of amazing bounty was loosed upon the streets. However! Not a minute later a large, red-faced man stormed out of the shop and began bellowing at them. “Hey, what are you doing you mutts! Get out of my trash!”

The terrier took off like a shot, Makkachin just behind him, the red-faced man giving chase. It was quite exciting for a time, running off with breakneck speed through the alleyway. Makkachin regretted that Yuri wasn't along, as he would have enjoyed it very much!

Finally, the man gave up, and Makkachin and the terrier stood huddled together, panting, some blocks away from where they had started. 

“I tried to warn you,” the terrier panted. “The man is kind of a jerk.”

Makkachin sniffed the air, suddenly realizing he was familiar with this part of town. “That's all right, friend! I know this place. There is a place, safe and warm, very near to here.” And so saying, he led the terrier off down the street, around the corner, and to a shop with a big glass door, where he stood up on his hind feet and gave a good thump.

A middle-aged woman hurried to the door and pulled it open for them. “Makkachin! How good to see you dear!” She kissed Makkachin in greeting and then peered out the door. “Hmm. Where is Victor? Ah, that rascal! Did he forget something and have to run back home? Well, I was just about to close up, but we can squeeze in one more appointment. And who is your little friend?” she inquired, giving the terrier an indulgent scratch behind the ears. “Olga!” she called, and disappeared into another room.

“What is this place?” whispered the wide-eyed terrier.

“It's quite nice, actually! That's Elena, the owner. They give you a nice bath and haircut, and there are treats.”

“I'm not sure about the bath,” moped the terrier.

“Oh, it's nice warm water, and they talk to you all the time. Here they are!”

“Can you stay another hour, Olga?” Elena was asking a younger woman. “Victor brought in Makkachin and another dog, and this one needs a brushing.”

“Oh, he's matted,” said Olga, who had crouched down to examine the terrier. She clucked her tongue. “Victor has another dog now?”

“Well, I don't know, he wasn't here, and he's not answering his phone.” Elena held up her Makkachin Photo Device. She was a lot better using it than Yurio. Makkachin had looked, and it held many of his photos, although not as many as Victor's phone.

He huffed.

He missed Victor. Only a little, not a lot!

“Well, if you can start combing this one out, and I'll get Makkachin's bath,” said Elena, setting the phone down on the counter. 

“Victor. So eccentric!” sighed Olga, who went to get her brushes.

Perhaps Makkachin missed Victor a lot.

 

The terrier sat swaddled in towels, looking like he might die of happiness. “You were right! A good warm bath – it's the best thing!”

“I told you, didn't I?” Makkachin told him, feeling very smug indeed. 

“I have a bow that's going to look so cute on you!” Elena told the little terrier. She scooped him up and took him into the other room.

“Well, I hope you're feeling proud of yourself!” 

Startled, Makkachin turned around to see Yurio's cat sitting right there, staring back at him.

“How in the world did you get here?” Makkachin asked.

“What do you mean how? I'm a cat!”

Makkachin harrumphed and laid back down. “What do you want, cat?”

“I suppose you know that Victor's going out of his head with worry.”

“Well. So.” Makkachin supposed he may have felt the tiniest bit guilty. 

“Will you please contact him?”

“I suppose.” He glanced over at Elena's Makkachin Photo Device. “Um, I don't really know how to use it though,” he admitted. “I can pose for Makkachin photos!”

“Oh, bother,” said the cat. She leapt to the counter, gave her paw a lick and, squinting at the Makkachin Photo Device, gave it a really good swat.

The device tumbled off the counter and went spinning along the floor. Along the way, it buzzed and dialed.

“Hello?” came a worried voice over the speaker.

“Who is that?” called Elena, who came running into the room. She crouched down and picked up the device. “Hello? Hello?”

“Hello. This is Victor. Who is this? I need to keep this line open! I've lost my Makkachin!”

“He's right here, Victor.”

“Right where? Have you found Makkachin?”

“Right where you left him, silly! He's being groomed! And we've done up his little friend.”

“Elena?” shouted Victor. “Stay there! I'll be right there. Don't move! Don't go anywhere!”

Elena smiled as Victor hung up. “Such an eccentric!”

Victor was there mere seconds after he had hung up, and Makkachin found himself engulfed in a hug as big and warm as all of Mother Russia.

“Makkachin! How could you give me such a fright!” Victor sobbed, and Makkachin, though he tried to resist, felt really, really terrible. “How could you run off? What should I ever do without you?”

“We've done up his friend as well,” Elena announced as Olga came into the room holding the terrier, who now found himself bedecked with a bright bow.

“Oh, you're a cutie!” said Mila, who was immediately over to scratch the newcomer behind the ears.

“Friend?” asked Victor. He stood up and regarded the terrier, finger to his chin. Suddenly, he gasped, and Makkachin was once again crushed in an embrace.

“Makkachin, you are a genius! See, I told you Mila!”

“Uh, told me what?” she asked.

“Come along,” said Victor, who seized the terrier, and then swept around the room dispensing kisses to Elena and Olga. “We'll get a cab home. And don't let Makkachin out of your sight, not even for an instant!” he ordered Mila.

And then he was gone, Mila and Makkachin hurrying after him.

 

Makkachin didn't think he would ever be so grateful to return to the warmth of his home. The apartment was packed with many friends today – Georgi and Yakov and Lilia and others from the rink. The ceiling had been strung with banners, and there were balloons and intriguing smells.

Yurio, wearing an apron, greeted them all at the door. “What the hell happened? We were worried. I mean, I wasn't worried. But some people were.”

Mila reached over and gave Yurio a peck on the cheek. 

“What are you doing, you hag?” he yelled.

“It says 'KISS THE CHEF' on your apron,” she laughed. Yurio glared down at the English writing on his apron, as it had miserably betrayed him.

“Where is Yuri?” Victor demanded.

“Chill out,” Yurio told him. “He's gone to pick up Phichit.”

Just then, as if in answer, the door opened and Yuri and Phichit entered. “Oh,” said Yuri, looking around and blinking in surprise. “I- I didn't expect a party.”

“It's your birthday!” laughed Phichit.

“Idiot,” muttered Yurio.

“Yuri!” shouted Victor, even though he was now inches away. He was still cradling the terrier, which he held up so Yuri could see him.

Makkachin gasped, suddenly realizing the gravity of what was happening. He came to Victor's side and stood, watching closely.

As the room grew quiet, Yuri and the dog stared at one another. After a moment, Victor crouched down, carefully sitting the little dog on the ground. Yuri sat down across from it, and then tentatively extended one pale hand out towards the dog.

The terrier frowned, and then sniffed. 

Makkachin held his breath.

And then the little terrier sprang forward with all his might, bolting directly at the center of Yuri's chest, knocking him backwards, and covering his face with dog kisses.

Yuri, his eyeglasses askew, propped himself up, hugging the dog to his chest. “Victor! Victor, he's perfect!”

Victor, who was still crouched down, smiled and said, “Of course! Makkachin picked him out!”

“Makkachin?” Yuri straightened his glasses. “Thank you, Makkachin,” he said earnestly.

Makkachin answered with a sturdy wag of his tail.

“What are you going to name him?” Yurio inquired. “Don't name him anything stupid!”

“So I can't name him Yurio?” Yuri countered. 

And then people were laughing and talking and Victor pulled Yuri to his feet and into a hug around the terrier between them and then another hug that included Makkachin. And Georgi wanted a selfie with the dog to show some girl he was dating so Phichit showed him the correct way of taking an awesome selfie and Makkachin had to make sure that Georgi had adequate photos on his Makkachin Photo Device. And Yurio sent a bunch of his own photos to someone with the unlikely name of Otabek, and so Mila teased him and stole his Makkachin Photo Device. And Lilia braided Mila's hair just like a ballerina and Yakov ate too many piroshkis and drank far too much vodka when Victor challenged him to do shots, and at some point after the contest Phichit decided he urgently needed to FaceTime his hamsters back in Bangkok, and so a splendid time was had by all.

Late that night, or actually, early the next morning, Victor sat on the couch with Makkachin in his lap. Below them, sleeping on the floor, Yuri was curled around the little terrier and Yurio, nestled beside him, had a cat napping on his head. Phichit was swaddled in a blanket not far away from them, curled around his Makkachin Photo Device, which now held an acceptable if not spectacular number of Makkachin images.

Mila blew a kiss from the doorway and saw herself off with Georgi.

The apartment at last grew quiet, but for the sounds of various soft snores.

“Makkachin,” said Victor. Makkachin stared at his companion. “It's not often that I speak to you in a stern manner, but this is important. You must realize that you are the beating heart of our precious family. I hope you know that.”

Yes, Makkachin told him, in a way that only dogs can. Yes, I realize that now.

“Well, that's good,” said Victor. He glanced around the room, blinking and yawing. “Well. Shall we go upstairs, or shall we stay with them?”

Makkachin gave Victor a nudge, and they both flopped back on the couch, and so very soon fell asleep, wrapped together, man and dog, there in the heart of their family.


End file.
